When the moon comes over, old Smokey, I hear a lonesome hound dog wail.
I know it's time to grab my hat and coat, for old Gobbler's hit the trail.
It's up through the hollow and down through the draw, the pine trees begin to sing.
They ring out the music of an old fox chase they know this night will bring.
To old Gobbler talk, to old Gobbler talk, that music echoes through my ears, to old Gobbler talk.
I yell, go Gobbler, go boy, as I hit the ground on the run.
That old fox hound is a-pickin' him up, I know a race has just begun.
I hear old Gobbler as he crosses the creek, down through the meadow and over the peak.
He's a-rollin' now, boy, hot on fire.
He's on the trail, pickin' up steam like the bar-balled male.
To old Gobbler talk, to old Gobbler talk, that music echoes through my ears, to old Gobbler talk.
I hear old Gobbler as he talks to me, sayin' here he is now, boy, up a tree I've run to the spot.
And lo and behold, there sits old Gobbler still a-rearin' to go.
To old Gobbler talk, to old Gobbler talk, that music echoes through my ears, to old Gobbler talk.
To old Gobbler talk, to old Gobbler talk, to old Gobbler talk, that music echoes through my ears, to old Gobbler talk.